


Pigheaded

by Wilde_Shade



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Injured Roadhog, Junkers being jerks., M/M, Mostly Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 09:39:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7569238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wilde_Shade/pseuds/Wilde_Shade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junkrat rescues Roadhog. Roadhog wishes he wouldn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pigheaded

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short little fic. An anon on Tumblr sent me a beautifully worded prompt:
> 
> "Roadhog is always saving the trashbaby, but can you imagine the one time Trash bomb Fire head has to save Roadhog? Perhaps he is already wounded and low on his hogdrogen. An enemy using a similar weapon gets em but then... bombs and angry rat scream "
> 
> Initially posted on tumblr, but no one seems to read my Roadrat stuff over there. I figured I'd dump it here.

This was it. This was how Mako Rutledge died. He died at a wharf in a warehouse district very far from the Outback. He died at night, bleeding from lots of little wounds and several big ones. He died sitting on his ass, staring down the twin barrels of his own gun, hand where a canister of Hogdrogen had once been and no longer was.

Junkrat was probably back at the safe house by now. At least there was that. Both of them dying here would have been pointless.

An explosion shook the pier. Fuck.

Roadhog tried to get up while the man who had him at gunpoint was distracted. Instead, he blacked out.

 

* * *

 

Roadhog came to.

There were no more explosions, but he smelled smoke and charred flesh. He heard something, too, a kind of rhythmic squelching sound. Roadhog willed his eyes to focus and looked for the source of the noise. “Junkrat,” he said, watching the rise and fall of his scrap gun. “Jamison,” he said next.

Junkrat looked up from the prone form of Roadhog’s would-be killer. The man was still breathing. Barely. The butt of the gun connected with the man’s skull one last time. That finished him off. With that taken care of, Junkrat closed the distance between himself and his bodyguard at an especially speedy limp. “Good God, look at you.” Junkrat laid the scrap gun at Roadhog’s side. “Are you all right?”

“No,” said Roadhog.

Junkrat must not have liked that answer. He ignored it. “Let’s get you out of here.” He offered Roadhog a hand. “Come on. Up you go.”

Roadhog didn’t think he needed to point out that he was wasn’t going anywhere. Give the kid a second to focus, and he’d figure it out himself. But Junkrat wasn’t deterred. He crouched down and pulled Roadhog’s arm around his shoulders, like he was going to be any kind of asset in helping him hobble out of there.

“Will you get your ass in gear?” Junkrat grunted with the effort of attempting to stand, an uncooperative Roadhog in tow. Roadhog had no interest in getting to his feet. He couldn’t possibly stay there for long, nevermind walk out of here. “Not to alarm you, pal, but those explosions might have alerted some folks. We’d best beat it before we’ve got company.”

“Go on,” said Roadhog, removing his arm from Junkrat’s shoulders to instead clutch at a wound on his side. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine. Junkrat knew it wasn’t fine. He was stubborn, not stupid. His eyes moved over Roadhog now, appraising the situation. “What? You think I should just leave ya here? That’s stupid.”

“It’s stupid to stay,” Roadhog pointed out. “It was stupid to come back.” Hell, maybe Junkrat _was_ stupid.

“You’d do it for me,” said Junkrat.

“No I wouldn’t,” grumbled Roadhog.

“Yes you would,” Junkrat insisted, though he suddenly looked a bit uncertain. “You’re my bodyguard and my best mate, and you’d do it for me.”

Roadhog liked to think he’d be more practical than that. He hoped Junkrat would be practical now. “Go.”

“No,” said Junkrat, having never once been practical a day in his life. “I can fix this.”

“How?” asked Roadhog, noting suddenly how cold his hands were and how hot his blood felt on them.

“Easy,” said Junkrat. His eyes darted this way and that, as if he was thinking up a plan on the spot. “I get rid of the threat.”

“How?” Roadhog asked again. The edges of his vision were getting fuzzy.

Junkrat was silent for several agonizingly long seconds. He clapped as an idea occurred to him. “Kill everyone. I kill everyone in- What do you think? Four miles? …Too much? Three then. I kill everyone in a three mile radius, then you’re safe here. I don’t have to move ya.”

“No,” said Roadhog, though he couldn’t be sure whether he actually said the word or just thought it passionately. Dimly, he was aware of Junkrat laying his scrap gun across his lap.

“I’ll be back in a tick,” said Junkrat.

“No,” said Roadhog. He heard himself this time and knew he’d said it out loud. It was difficult to tell whether Junkrat hadn’t heard or was ignoring him. “Rat!” he yelled as the kid began to hurry away. “What are you doing?”

“Going to kill everyone. Remember?”

“Just steal a car.” If he insisted on helping, let him mount a rescue that was at least _marginally_ sane.

“Oh,” said Junkrat. “Oh, that’s a better idea.”

It _was_ a better idea. It was not, however, a good idea. Unfortunately, there was no chance of Roadhog staying conscious long enough to convince Junkrat of that.

 

* * *

Roadhog came to.

When he did, Junkrat’s face was about two inches from his own. Not a good way for anyone to wake up, frankly.

“Oi. Anyone home?” Junkrat took Roadhog’s face in his hands - or mask, rather. He smiled when Roadhog responded with a grunt. It was a bit strained. Still a smile, though. There was blood on his clothes and blood on his hands and a spray of the stuff across his face. Roadhog wondered if he’d gone through with his initial and completely unrealistic plan, but then he saw the SUV. “I stole a car. So, up we go.”

Roadhog took a deep breath. It made his lungs burn and his ribs ache, but he did it anyway. For all his complaining that Junkrat should just leave, he didn’t really want to die on this pier. Surely, he could make it ten feet. He stood.

“I’ve got ya, mate,” said Junkrat, even though he _really_ didn’t. It helped, though. Bizarrely. The kid was trying. He was determined and he was scared. Roadhog would have liked to believe Junkrat was scared because he didn’t want to lose his bodyguard. But, no. For whatever reason, the idiot cared about him. Genuinely cared about him. That was a lot of pressure, especially now that Junkrat had gone through all this trouble to keep him alive. That much pressure was oddly motivating.

The seats were folded down in the back of the SUV. There was a body in there already. Junkrat swore. “Sorry, sorry!” He yanked it out by the heels. It hit the pavement with a wet thunk. “Must have missed one.”

Roadhog collapsed into the back. He was feeling dizzy again. He was afraid to lose consciousness, afraid he wouldn’t wake up. He didn’t like the idea of Junkrat having to deal with that. Dying now would be… sort of embarrassing. The last thing he heard was Junkrat climbing up into the front. “Tell you what, Roadie. I sure do wish I’d learned how to drive a stick.”

Goddamn it.

* * *

 

Roadhog didn’t really come to for a while. It was like twilight or the tide, maybe. He saw things filtered through a kind of fog, his sense of self rolling in and out.

Roadhog saw Junkrat looking down at him, wearing the sort of look he reserved for working with explosives on his face. Uncharacteristically focused, hands unusually steady.

Roadhog saw bloody rags and a bottle of water. He saw bandages. He saw a needle and the flame off a lighter. A couple of times, he woke up to pain. Both times, Junkrat was looking down at him, hands busy while he told him to shut up. So, that was a little surreal. Junkrat telling _him_ to shut up.

 

* * *

 

When Roadhog came to for good, he was still in the back of the SUV. It was dark outside of the windows. Roadhog saw brick and not much else. Junkrat had likely stashed the vehicle between some buildings somewhere.

“Rat?” he called, hoping he hadn’t just left him here. He blinked a couple of times feeling like a bit of an idiot when he realized his head was in Junkrat’s lap. The kid looked down at him. Roadhog saw him smile, felt his fingers in his hair, twirling it anxiously, idly.

“You fat fucking idiot.” Junkrat laid a mechanical hand on Roadhog’s chest. “That sucked. That _really_ sucked. Fuck you.”

Credit where it was due, the kid seemed to have done a half decent job patching him up. There were a couple of empty Hogdrogen containers to his right. They must be parked near the safe house. Junkrat must have grabbed some much needed supplies there.

“How do you feel?” asked Junkrat, sulky - probably upset that there wasn’t a good way to ask that kind of question angrily.

He felt like shit. “I’ll live,” Roadhog said instead. He knew that much. He looked up at Junkrat, noticed how tired he looked, how exceptionally bloody. “Any of that blood yours?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Junkrat grumbled. He must have realized that didn’t make such sense. “Yes,” he said instead. “Almost definitely.” He laughed. “But you should see the other guy…” He laughed louder. “Guys. Plural. I won’t mince words, Roadie. A lot of people died, and it was _spectacular_.”

Roadhog wasn’t going to thank Junkrat. He may have saved his life. It might have worked out in the end, but he hadn’t listened to him. It was luck. It could just have easily been both of them that were killed. “Go wash off,” said Roadhog. “Come back, and let me see.” He’d stick it out in the SUV for, at least, a couple more hours. He didn’t much feel like trying to move.

“Don’t boss me around,” Junkrat grumbled. “I just saved your life.”

“Wash off and show me where you’re hurt,” Roadhog instructed again, firmly.

“I can take care of myself, you know? I was going to. I just had to wait for you to wake up first… Make sure no one followed us… Keep watch.” Junkrat looked away. Roadhog wondered what Junkrat would have done if he hadn’t woken up. Junkrat must have been thinking something similar, because suddenly the kid was an uncomfortable weight on his chest. He had his arms around him, squeezing him tight.

Roadhog waited for the moment to pass. It didn’t. Against his better judgment he raised an arm and folded it over Junkrat. Against his better judgment, he hugged him back. Against his better judgment, he sighed a reluctant, “Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> If I'm ever feeling evil, I may come back and add an alternate ending to this.


End file.
